


names on a grave

by pro_se



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Feels, F/M, Friendship, Gambling, Gentle Sex, Pirate Politics, Slow Burn, i guess we're doing this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-03-26 04:43:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13850343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pro_se/pseuds/pro_se
Summary: You shouldn’t have agreed to go to Havana.But amnesty was such a delectable idea. Maybe there was a chance to convince Hornigold of his mistakes. If you could make Nassau safe for your exiled friends, and see them on the palm-strewn beaches, you’d be willing to grit your teeth and spend time with the flint-eyed pirate hunter.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: in which the author publishes this or else it'll never see the light of day
> 
> and I'll add a summary if I ever add more chapters

“What now?” you ask, pretending to study the cards in your current hand. “What now, after you’ve abandoned Nassau and all of your friends?”

Benjamin Hornigold narrows his eyes. A muscle twitches in his jaw and you smile to yourself. “And I thought we were here to have a civil game of cards,” he replies dryly, discarding a couple of cards and raising the stakes. He toys with the buttons of his cuffs. “But if we must, shall I inquire? How are our friends doing? Kenway, Thatch, and Kidd? Vane?”

Each name drives a stake deeper in your heart. You dearly miss the company, but they’ve been scattered to the winds and the sea. Kenway and Thatch were missing. A few times, you spotted Kidd on the beach with a particular red-haired barmaid, with his hands jammed in his pockets, staring out over the waters, deep and lost in thought. Vane was gone, too, sending only the occasional, belligerent message. Every time you try and reach out, it seems like the pirates melt into the high tide and leave only a whisper of reassurance.

_ Stay strong, princess. _

_ We’ll send word soon. _

_ Don’t keep the wrong company. _

Your neutral expression wavers, for a moment, before you compose yourself once more. You swear that Hornigold hides a smile and you try to ignore him. Instead, you toss a few coins to the center of the table. “Now that you’ve adorned new colors and allegiances, I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore. So I ask again.” You fix your gaze a little more seriously on him. “What are you doing these days as a pirate hunter?”

“Talking, mostly,” Hornigold says passingly. “Visiting more and more harbors to warn about ignoring the governor’s well wishes.”

“You used to preach that accepting the pardon would make you a better person.”

“I used to say it would give us a second chance,” he corrects, shifting in his seat to uncross his legs. “And it did. I’m not waiting in line for the gallows.” He cocks his head. “How many of your neighbors and fellows have you seen hung for piracy in the last few weeks?”

“I thought we were here to have a civil game of cards.”

“Hmm. Aye. I believe it’s your turn.”

You can barely keep your hands from shaking as you draw a card, then throw down a complete, victorious hand. Hornigold acquiesces with a slight, grim smile and he helps shove the pile of winnings over to your side of the table. He starts to reshuffle the cards.

You hesitate before picking up your new hand, unsure if you want to keep playing. Barely looking up, Hornigold says, “I reckon this is your chance at some income, what with trade on Nassau lacking. And you know, my offer still stands.”

“Which is?”

“You would do well in higher-stakes competitions. Those hosted by lords and ladies, and governors.” Hornigold’s gray eyes stray to the paintings hanging in his cabin. “You would win not only a sizable fortune, but a grand reputation. And if you’re cheating--”

“I’m not.”

“--I couldn’t even tell. I have the ideal opportunity in mind already.”

“Let me guess.” You cross your arms and this time, there’s no hiding the scowl on your face. “Governor Woodes Rogers is going to have a competition at his humble Havana abode.”

_ Don’t keep the wrong company. _

“No. Thank you, Benjamin, but I would rather stay far away from pirate hunters. After questioning a few locals, he’d know that I have relations with pirates.”

He sighs heavily, like he’s regretting his own thoughts and decisions. “I could grant you amnesty.”

“Why?”

“Because I like you. I know you could do so much better than starving slowly on your business or waiting for any sign of Kenway or Thatch.” Again, there he goes with those names. Again, your heart twists and aches for their voices. Hornigold sounds too confident, too charismatic, and it’s difficult to know when he’s lying.

He sits forward and sets aside his cards, ending the round for now.

“Why are you throwing away your life? This is a perfect opportunity for--”

“Second chances?”

“--a fresh start.” Hornigold shakes his head. “You really should stop interrupting. Sometimes you might want to pay attention to what I’m saying.” He gestures for you to relax and then he stands, heading over to the flagon and glasses on his writing desk. The pirate-hunter pours for the both of you, then presses the glass in your hand.

You swirl the dark, tart liquid around, eyes downcast on the crimson color. “You weren’t so cruel before,” you say quietly. “Or perhaps you were, and I just never bothered to notice.”

“Everyone was vying for your attention; and now there’s no one but me.” Hornigold takes a sip of the wine, looking suddenly haggard and distant. Not regretful. Not sad. More as if he’s been through wrung a series of challenges, and the exhaustion is only taking effect now. “Can I ask you something?”

It takes a while for him to muster the words, or confidence.

“Do you hate me?”

“Ben--”

“It’s a serious question. Do you hate that I’ve become other than a pirate?”

You put down the glass, and it rattles against the wooden table. “What do you want me to say?” you ask, hoping your voice remains steady. “Will it make you feel better if i condemn you? Am I the only person you are able to ask, because everyone else is gone, driven from Nassau or dead-- who fucking knows--”

The words taper off and you frustratedly run your hands through your hair, wishing, wishing for something you didn’t know yet--

You decide at last what is, hopefully the truth. “I don’t hate you. I just miss my friends.”

He finishes the last of his wine, and you slide your glass over to him. Hornigold didn’t know you long enough to learn that you preferred other drinks. He merely nods. The shadow of a bittersweet smile warps his pale lips. “Even if they come back,” he says quietly, “they can’t save you.”

“If they come back,” you reply in return, “you’ll kill them.”

Hornigold says nothing; he doesn’t have to.

The silence is heavy.


	2. Chapter 2

He promises that no one will recognize your sun kissed locks or calloused palms, though when Hornigold rakes his gaze over your figure, you feel like you’re been examined for each and every flaw that makes you a part of the island life. You didn’t scorch your soles while being a governess or a wife. You  _ fought  _ for a place on those docks-- you  _ fought  _ for this life that scarred you in blemishes and freckles.

You shouldn’t have agreed to go to Havana.

But  _ amnesty  _ was such a delectable idea. Maybe there was a chance to convince Hornigold of his mistakes. If you could make Nassau safe for your exiled friends, and see them on the palm-strewn beaches, you’d be willing to grit your teeth and spend time with the flint-eyed pirate hunter.

Regret after regret fills your thoughts as you prepare for the voyage aboard Hornigold’s vessel. You notify the landlord and he promises to maintain the somewhat stagnant business. You also give a spare flat key to the redhaired barmaid known as--

“Miss Bonny, I’m going to Havana for a while. I know that James Kidd has spoken highly of you, so would you keep this safe?” You try to give her a small pouch of coins but she seems to recognize you from Kidd’s stories, too.

“No need for payment, lass. I’ll keep your personals safe.”

You take a deep breath. “And if you see them,  _ any  _ of them, tell them that I’m with Benjamin Hornigold. I’ll be back soon. I promise.”

Her lips part in surprise. Lord, Anne Bonny is truly beautiful, and you’re lost in those round, green eyes. “Hornigold? Are you going to be safe in his company?” Evidently, his reputation stretched far and wide and especially among his old stomping grounds.

“If I can convince him to let them come home, this is worth the effort. And the risk.”

Her gaze softens, and she gently grasps your elbow. “Come in for a stiff one. I promise, just one.” You won’t drink alcohol, but the coffee is hot and steaming. The redhaired woman coaxes a personality from you, able to see past the person painted in Kidd’s stories. You wish you could stay and talk more, but the evening approaches and you must make your way home.

“Miss Bonny, it was wonderful to meet you. Thank you.”

Anne shushes you with a slight grin. “When you come back, we’ll have a talk about callin’ me a ‘miss’,” she threatens lightly, but the suggestion that you  _ will  _ return to Nassau warms your heart.

Early next morning, you stand at the docks and silently watch as the  _ Benjamin _ prepares to sail. You’re caught off guard by the chatter and noise of the bustling dock workers. Mixed languages and dialects twist like music, coupled with ocean waves. You wonder if the harbors in Havan will sound the same.

As streaks of orange and red grow brighter along the horizon, you see a broad figure emerge from the captain’s cabins. Breeches loose and low over his hips, shirt unbuttoned, Hornigold runs a hand over his face and yawns at dawn’s approach.

He spies your motionless figure amidst the bustling dock works and calls down, “Waitin’ for something?”

“Will we come back soon?”

“Depends on whether or not you want to stay in Havana.” Your heart skips a beat.  _ Stay in Havana? _ That was never an option; neither of you had discussed this. You assumed that you would stay a week at the most. Before you can say anything else, Hornigold disappears from view. “Climb aboard. We’ll set out shortly.”

What if he has no intention of returning you to Nassau?

You force yourself to climb on the ramp, then aboard the vessel. The crew runs rampant, checking the knots and rigging, all the while ignoring your strange presence. You glance upward to see the fluttering British flag, then your back collides with Hornigold as he reappears, now donned in his navy blue coat.

“Guest o’ honor may stay in the captain’s cabin,” he says. “You’ll find food, drink, and a bed, if you want to sleep.”

You wrap your fingers around the small leather bag you’ve brought with a change of clothes and some of your valuables. “I’ll stay on the deck for now,” you stammer, “if that’s all right.”

He shrugs indifferently. Hornigold sweeps past, letting his hands linger on your waist as he heads to the bow of the ship to talk with his first mate. You slowly make your way to the quarterdeck, and slide down against the railing. It’s not long before Hornigold and his first mate take the helm and order the barefoot crew to raise the anchors.

You try to quell the panic that threatens to overwhelm your thoughts.  _ Stay strong, princess.  _ You reach into your pockets and pull out a deck of cards. The act of shuffling seems to calm your nerves. You’re good at gambling. If you stay your losses and remember that this journey is a  _ game  _ that you can  _ win _ , you’ll come out victorious.

Benjamin Hornigold maintains a respectable distance in close and private quarters. His hands stray on occasion, or rest for a moment too long on your shoulders or the small of your back, but the fleeting touches are enough to distract your thoughts. He plays a few card games with you. “I don’t expect to win,” Hornigold tells you, leaning back in the captain’s chair. “Not against you.”

“Well,” you say, delicately organizing your hand, “forgive me, but you’ve a terrible poker face.”

“No worse than Vane.”

Your hands twitch. A quick glance shows that he’s still concentrating on his cards. The name slipped out so easily, but it digs its claws in your heart. “It’s true,” you manage to say, to keep the conversation going. “He scowls too much.”

Hornigold chuckles. “Y’know,  _ Ranger  _ was my first ship when I turned pirate.” While this does prick your interest, you remain steadfast to not show too much emotion. “The first time we met, you told me I shouldn’t assume things I didn’t know. What’s with you and Charles Vane?”

“We’ve known each other longer than we knew the others. As a privateer, he used to visit a port city. My hometown. Ever since, he’s been-- well, kind to me. I owe him a lot.”

“And that’s all?” Benjamin asks skeptically.

“All you need to know.”

The social conventions in Nassau differ hugely than those in Havana, so the two of you have much to prepare cosmetics-wise. Hornigold scrubs himself and fixes his clothes properly, making sure that no button is missed as he checks his bearded reflection. You fumble with corset laces and stockings, and a lightweight gown that would not stifle in the humidity. You unfurl a black lace ribbon and worry the texture between your fingers.

“Benjamin.”

“Yes, dear?”

“Is it still fashionable for women to wear ribbons, or is too immodest?”

The dark-haired man grins, then saunters over. His callused hands twist the ribbon out of your grasp and he carefully secures it against your throat. “Most of the madames prefer to wear neck frills, but you should have nothin’ to worry about. There. A sailor’s knot should do it.”

He seizes your elbow and lifts you out of the chair. “Could you recognize me as a Nassau merchant?” you ask, glancing into the mirror.

“Almost. I think I have something for you.” Hornigold sifts through a few drawers, then finds a small, rosewood jewelry box. After a few moments, he returns to your side and picks up your hand. You almost snatch it out of your grasp, but the panicked look must have been clear in your eyes. “I‘m not a marrying man. Relax.” He then slides on an ornate ring on your right hand, then your left.

One is a simple silver band with copper inlays. The other is larger, and looks like it could be used for wax seals. Upon closer inspection, you can see a delicate ‘H’ on the signet.

“Subtle,” you comment.

“It was an heirloom.”

Hornigold lifts up your hand to his lips and-- no, he doesn’t kiss it, he just lazily brushes his mouth against your knuckles and the dip between your thumb and forefinger. His gaze sinks past your reservations, heavy like a stone or an anchor, and you can’t remember how to think. 

Except you know that he shouldn’t be doing this.

Or it could be so much more, more than his lips on your hand.

Trembling, you drag yourself away from him and slip out of the cabin. White-knuckling the timber railing, you release a slow, shaky breath that had been trapped in your lungs, whether out of fear or anticipation, you’ve no idea. Before you is a bleached city with more forts and buildings than you’ve ever seen in your life. A jungle towers lazily in the distance, its verdant colors slightly obscured with wisping clouds.

A church bell tolls, somewhere deep in the heart of the city, and you see Hornigold approach from the side. “Let’s go, princess,” he says, nodding at the crew as they lower the gangplank into place. “We’ll be stayin’ near the waterfront.”

It seems simple: two bedrooms, two separate keys, and within shouting distance if you ever needed assistance. It’s a neat, furnished bedroom with a writing desk and an alcove for washing. The pirate hunter tells you that he’ll stop by your room around sunset, so you lie on the bed and shuffle your cards until the shadows on your walls grow long and the cicadas begin to shriek in the onset of night.

Hornigold knocks on your door. “Time to make a good impression,” he calls. “We’ve been invited to the governor’s home. I’ll talk with Rogers, you’ll speak with the ladies, we’ll have a swell time.”

You open the door and try to not glower. “You sound ecstatic,” you say dryly.

“These jaunty soirées are only good for the drinks,” he replies, fiddling with his cufflinks.

The evening, fortunately, is not as warm as the sun sinks behind the horizon. The roads are paved with cobblestones and there is a degree of civility with the planted palm trees and well-built flat complexes. Hornigold takes your arm and leads you further into the city, passing through one of the fort walls that you previously glimpsed. Slowly, rags and dirt-streaked faces give way to robes and powdered noses.

Woodes Rogers is a formidable man, thin and poised and unsmiling. He stands with the scarred side of his face angled away from prying eyes. You’ve heard of his battle wounds, though his threats towards your friends are much more lasting. Hornigold briefly introduces you as a friend, and his companion for the trip.

His head tilts curiously. “Will you be staying long with us?”

Hornigold chuckles. “As long as the lady wishes.”

“And where do you come from, if not Havana?” You offer the name of your hometown, and he offhandedly recognizes it. Fortunately, Rogers’s interest in you passes and you excuse yourself from the conversation. As you walk away, you glance back and see Hornigold fiddling with a ring on his finger. It is silver and red-- and that is all, before someone compliments your waistline and asks your name.

Rich people are very interested in whether or not you could afford to be at such a lavish party. One glance at your gown and shoes inspires questions. You manage to deflect them by gesturing over to Hornigold. They are pleased to know that the famous British privateer has vouched for you. They praise him for his bravery to confront the vile pirates that plague the oceans.

_ Don’t keep the wrong company. _

A gentleman in a dark red frock asks for your hand when the music begins to play. You decline, only to meet another suitor waiting in line. They want to know your parents, your family history, your inheritance.

Someone seizes your hand-- you’re getting very frustrated at the candor of these people-- and drags you forward, flush against a broad chest magnificently decorated with a stiff, royal navy blue coat and glossy buttons. You look up and see Benjamin Hornigold’s faint five o’ clock shadow. His eyes do not drop down to you, rather focused on the space behind your shoulder. He readjusts the way he holds you: your fingers interlace and link in a much more intimate gesture. His other hand rests on the small of your back.

He spins you around, once, in the middle of the dance floor.

“Dance with me,” he says, still not meeting your startled gaze. “Even if it’s just for a while.”

Music rich with drums and strings swell in the air, creating dips of melodies not unlike the way a boat rocks in the sea. A woman sings with a beautiful, deep voice, and all around are swirling gowns and whirling colors of the lords and ladies. Even their laughs sound pleasing and rich, like their status and wealth.

Hornigold sees your hesitation. “No one’s watching us. I promise.”

And so slowly, your feet begin to move and trail after Hornigold, who leisurely takes the lead. He dances with little grace but all of the confidence of an experienced man. Even his wide grin distracts from his off-tempo movements. After a few minutes, you try to pull back and return to the sidelines. Benjamin gives you some leeway, only to then pull you even further into the center of the ballroom.

“I think I’ve had enough dancing,” you say quietly, firmly.

“If I let go,” Hornigold replies, now fixing his blue-gray gaze on you, “the governor will see an opportunity to ask you to dance. And you can’t say no to him.”

“I can, and I just might.”

“And to every person afterwards? Better if you stay with me. Avoid talk of politics and gossip and who’s wearing what.” Hornigold knows the unease that comes with being in these scrutinizing situations. He continues to move about with his strange rhythm.

A nervous laugh slips past your lips. “Jesus, you have no idea how to dance, do you?”

“Is it that obvious?” His smile fades, and his shoulders tense slightly. “You… you should be here, in lively company, instead of being on an island infested with pirates. Drink fine wine and eat good food, not the gruel on Nassau. And you deserve a good person in your life.”

You flush. “A good person? You flatter yourself, Benjamin.”

“I’m trying to be a good person.” He tugs you closer to him til your faces are a hand’s breadth apart, as if proximity could coax truth into his voice. “I’m  _ trying _ . Does that mean anything to you?”

He sounds anxious. Hopeful, or desperate. What is he looking for?

“What do you want me to say?”

“If you could leave and go back to Nassau right now, would you?”

You hesitate. “No.”

“You have business here.” Hornigold takes a deep, slow breath. “For tolerating my presence, my touch, this city of rich and poor.”

Your words to Anne Bonny ring loud in your head.  _ If I can convince him to let them come home-- _

“Did it ever occur to you that I brought you here,” he says after a dreadful moment’s pause, “so you could convince our old friends to give up?”

It feels like the world stops moving as you stare at him.

“Charles Vane, Edward Teach, Kenway-- they are  _ pirates _ , and nothing could convince them to change their ways. But they trust you. And perhaps, if you sent word with your own opinion about the pardon--”

“You mean, your words in my mouth.”

“Otherwise,” he continues, squeezing your hand tightly. “They will be caught, and they will hang for their crimes.”


	3. Chapter 3

Strange, it seems like amidst the jewelry and antiques, there’s a single playing card for viewing pleasure. You think that it’s perhaps part of a deck, but then the sight of the queen of hearts makes you stop in your tracks.

You woke up that morning with the sweet Caribbean heat sticking to your skin. A quick glance out of the window showed an outdoor marketplace with various vendors and merchants. You might be able to purchase a more formal set of clothes, or whatever catches your eye.

Your deck of cards had spilled across the floor and nightstand (you must have knocked it over or something) but after counting, you realize that there was one card missing. Queen of hearts.

And there it was, on the table of color trinkets and knick-knacks.

“What the--” You pick up the card and yes, there’s no doubt about its brand or design. It’s undoubtedly yours. You turn to the cloaked peddler. “ _ Disculpe,  _ where did you get this?”

The merchant turns round. You stifle a gasp as sky-blue eyes from a tanned, weathered face meet yours. “Let’s see,” Edward Kenway muses, leaning forward and plucking the card from your hand. “Ah, a relic from past times. When the Spanish first claimed the island as their own, they had a very famous gambler who would wear rings of diamonds and drink the finest wines--”

You snatch the queen back. “Shut up, you stole this from me! How? What are you doing here?”

He places a finger to his lips. It looks like he hasn’t shaved in a few days. Kenway traded his white hooded robes for a darker shade of brown, with a red sash tied around his middle. An unfamiliar sword hangs at his side, and his pistols are instead buckled to his sides.

Kenway picks up a conch shell and pretends to examine its symmetrical grooves. “We got your message from Miss Bonny. Jesus, a tryst in Havana and with  _ Hornigold  _ for that matter?”

God, you missed his wisecracks, and that wonderful smile. “The others--?”

“Safe and sound. Vane wanted me to drag you back to Nassau, but there’s the matter of the dozen British ships circling like sharks. So tell Hornigold that you’re ready to leave, and he’ll give you safe passage back.”

You fiddle with the ribbon around your neck. “Not yet.”

Kenway puts down the shell. “Why the bloody hell not?”

“I’ve got business here.”

“It’s not worth risking your neck. If they find out that you’re good company with pirates--”

“I know how to keep my mouth shut,” you say in a clipped tone.

The pirate rubs his temples and groans. He seems like he’s on the fence-- willing to leave you, willing to throw you on the  _ Jackdaw _ . “Okay. Okay. Just-- be careful? Hornigold and the governor are part of something big and dangerous. You ever heard of Templars?”

“What the fuck is a Templar?”

Edward Kenway winks. “Don’t worry ‘bout it.” 

Someone presses their palm against the small of your back and you whip around, prepared to see another welcome face, but Woodes Rogers coolly looks at you and the card in your hand. “Good morning. I did not mean to startle you, but I thought I recognized your voice from across the aisle.”

“Governor Rogers,” you say, heart hammering in your chest. “Do you frequent the market often?”

“No, no. Ever so rarely.” He looks at the empty space where Edward stood moments ago. “Were you speaking to someone?”

“I’m not sure if he was in charge of the stall. He took off in another direction.”

You see the magnitude of Rogers’s scars in the gaslight. He has the expression of someone who heard  _ everything _ you and Kenway said, but you have the sense that it’s a bluff, sure to frighten his conversation partners. “You know,” Rogers says, slowly guiding you along the pavement, “I spoke with Captain Hornigold last night. He said that his ship disembarked in Nassau. How long were you accompanying the captain before you came here? Surely you did not come from that pirate-infested island.”

“Well…”

“What business would you have on Nassau?”

“Certain events landed me there. I worked the trade market, but Benjamin offered me passage to Havana.” You try to sound nonchalant. “I respected his position. He always seemed honorable as a privateer.”

“And did you know his associates when he, ah, was more like a pirate?”

A smile flitters across your face. “No. I could not stand the company. I heard their famous names, perhaps glimpsed them from afar, but I never knew them as well as I know Benjamin.” Your first bluff against Woodes Rogers. Though you’ve yet to play a game against him, seeing Kenway has stirred some confidence in your favor.

Rogers tilts his head. “I… appreciate your honesty.”

“Thank you.”

The governor guides you around the stalls for a few minutes, and you glance around for a hint of Kenway. A whiff of gunpowder, a flash of blue eyes-- but nothing. You would chase Rogers away if it wouldn’t draw attention. Fortunately, he takes his leave for other responsibilities. “I look forward to seeing you again. Perhaps you could tell me more about Nassau from a merchant’s point of view. The misfortune brought by those despicable, murderous pirates. I’m sure many would be interested to hear your tale.”

Caught off guard, you stammer something about being shy or embarrassed, but Rogers merely smiles. Testing your story, seeing if you would stick by your words. Could you fabricate a new life before seeing him again? He leaves, finally, and now you sweep your gaze openly for Kenway.

_ We’ll send word soon. _

But he’s gone, gone again, and you frustratedly tuck the queen of hearts in your pocket. Kenway brought a moment of peace to this chaos. You start to head back to the waterfront residence, running over your words in your head. They should have warned you about Rogers. Did he have associates on Nassau? Would they recognize your face from Old Avery, at the table overcrowded by notorious pirates? And what the fuck was a Templar?

Fumble with the lock. Wrench the door open. Stumble into your hotel room, towards the bed--

\--only to find Benjmain Hornigold half-reclined in a mussed bed, shirtless, his pants unlaced and loose. The look on his face is not one of guilt, but bewilderment. Then you see the rest of his clothes strewn across the floor, his weapons and baldric on the nightstand, and no sign of your belongings anywhere.

“Can I help you?” Hornigold asks warily.

You show him your key. “What’s the point if it opens your room, too?”

“I didn’t know that management was so cheap.” He grunts and sits up, then makes a motion to grab a shirt. You try not to look at the curve of his exposed neck or the thick, curly hair that flatters his broad chest-- and you hold up your hands hastily.

Trying to keep your voice as level as possible, you tell him, “I’m going to my room proper now. Sorry for intruding.”

You’re not sure how he moves so fast, but Hornigold places himself between you and the door, his brows knitted in concern. “Hey, hey, what’s with that look on your face? You all right? Something bothered you?” He sounds genuinely interested. Even barefoot, he towers over you by at least half a foot.

You cant your gaze to the side. “I met the governor while I was out. I guess he took me by surprise.”

You take a step away from him, away from the door,  _ closer _ to the bed. Hornigold follows, curious, his lips parted like he wants to ask you something. 

“What are you doing?” you ask hoarsely, forcing each word to sound clearly.

“Gov’nor didn’t hurt you, right?”

“I’m… fine..” Hornigold tilts up your chin with those rough fingers and  _ lord _ , you’re just looking for an excuse to run out of the room. He looks too alluring with those gray eyes, those taut muscles-- you remember being on the ship, in the captain’s cabin. When he offered you amnesty with kindness, when he would look at you--

Suddenly, his hands are on your waist and the heat sinks past your petticoat and corset, and it takes you  _ everything  _ from caving into his touch-- “You’re shaking. Scared?”

“It’s because of  _ you _ . Every time you touch me, it’s hard to  _ think _ \--” The truth is dragged from your clenched teeth, hissed in the space between your bodies, and confessing this feels like betraying the pirates you’re trying to protect. When you look up to Hornigold, damn if he doesn’t seem something like desire in your eyes.

“Hell if I haven’t been imagin’ you under me,” he murmurs. “But I need t’ hear it from you. Do you want me? Do you trust me?”

“I-- I don’t know.” Your hands start to tremble, so you tuck them behind your back. “I don’t know what I-- feel for you. I think I want you. I don’t know if I trust you.”

With a single step, he’s crossed over into your personal space, making you crane your head to look at him. He smells like musk and ocean salt. It’s warm in Havana, and his hair mats from perspiration. If anything, you love watching his shoulders lift and drop with each slow, heavy breath. You  _ want _ to kiss his neck, you  _ want _ to taste the salt of his skin--

_ Kenway, Vane,  _ you think desperately.  _ Thatch, Kidd, even fuckin’ Rackham. _

And then he’s cupping your face between those large, warm hands and he presses his scarred forehead against yours. “Princess,” he groans, “The way we interact is entirely dependent on what we want for those pirates. We’re only here for them, and it’s not fair. It’s not fair to  _ us _ . ” 

He’s right. You hate it, but he’s right.

“We could be so much better. Just the two of us. Let me show you.”

Lord, he’d make the  _ perfect _ distraction. Exactly what you need.

“Were you always such a good talker?” you mumble hazily.

Hornigold chuckles. “The charm works from time to time.” He implores, once more: “Trust me.”

All it takes is a simple nod.

Instead, you surge upwards and kiss him with a desperation that scares you. You’ve entrusted this man with your body. Benjamin doesn’t hesitate in the kiss, delving into your mouth with a sweep of his tongue against yours. You taste the red wine he’s been drinking in early morning: sharp and sweet, not unlike him. 

The pirate hunter yanks out a chair from the table and sits down heavily, dragging you into his lap. He quickly unfastens your petticoat and lets the layers of fabric drift to the ground. Your legs snake around his hips, and Hornigold digs his fingers into your love handles and the nape of your neck.

You run your trembling hands over his chest and shoulders, finding old and fresh scars against his tanned skin, dragging your nails down the cords in his throat. 

Your mind goes blank for a few moments-- all you know is the way he rocks you in his arms, his hips occasionally bucking underneath you, and the way he groans into your mouth, hungry and eager. Hornigold rips the laces loose from your corset and throws it to the side. He figures it’s easier to strip you bare on the bed, so he stands and stagers over to the sheets.

The two of you fumble and trip over each other, fighting to unbutton your chemise before it’s flung to the floor. He cups your breasts for a moment and you  _ keen _ into his touch, and Hornigold grins at how  _ easy  _ you fold in his arms. He seats you back on the bed. His blunt fingers dig into your hips as he kneels and peels away your stockings.

You begin to untie the black ribbon round your neck, but he shakes your head. “Leave it on,” he says, flushing from such a tame request. “It looks-- God, you’re fuckin’  _ beautiful _ .” The sincerity in his praise makes you blush, and Hornigold leans down for another insistent kiss. He’s so clearly  _ ready _ , but something makes him hesitate before fucking you right then and there--

Hornigold pushes you back on the bed and starts to place small, biting kisses along your calves and thighs on his journey to your lips. For what feels like a cruel eternity, he remains unforgivably distant. Hornigold’s mouth is too close, too near where he longs to be. He slowly tugs the drawers past your legs, your ankles, and he places a soft, wet kiss against your pubic hair. You gasp and tense under his gentle actions.

“Relax,” he says, flinty eyes flicking up to look at you. “If you want me to stop at any time, you tell me.”

“I  _ want--  _ this-” you stammer, “I just--”

“Nervous?”

“Yes.”

Hornigold hesitates. “Done this before?”

“Briefly.” You bite your lower lip. “Not like this.”

“What do you like? What do you want?”

“Tell-- me what to do.”

He licks his lips, as if he’s trying to make up his mind. He doesn’t seem to be satisfied by that request. Hornigold strokes your stomach and thighs carefully before settling more comfortably between your legs. “Then tell me, does this feel good?” he asks, and then drags his tongue along your slit, slow and sinister. You arch into his mouth, unable to stop a loud whimper of pleasure. Hornigold teases, “Use your words. Did you like it?”

“Y-yes, oh God, yes!”

So he does it again, even more languid and sensuously. His mouth is wicked. When you dissolve into silence, Hornigold demands to hear your voice for as long as you’ll remain coherent. He lightly traces around your clit, letting his breath ghost over your sex, relishing in the way you moan under a simple touch. Hornigold wraps his lips around your clit--  _ finally _ \-- and suckles lightly, as if he’s testing the limits of your pleasure.

Your fingers tangle in his dark hair. It’s not an indication of wanting to  _ stop _ ; you need to ground yourself against anything. Hornigold chuckles, the vibration only worsening the aching, slick heat. Just as you dare to look at him, you see him lick his lips and  _ god _ , does that make your toes curl.

You shakily card through his sweaty locks and say, “I want to kiss you. Let me kiss you.”

“Not yet.”

You toss your head back. “ _ Benjamin-- _ ”

“Believe me, princess, I’d like to fuck you ‘til the next sunrise,” the pirate hunter croons, his accent rich and throaty, “but I want to make you come first. Next time we’re in some paltry ballroom and bored out of our minds, you’re gonna look at me--” he trails his tongue once more against your clit-- “and think about how much I  _ loved  _ fuckin’ your cunt with my tongue.”

“ _ F-fuck-- _ ”

Hornigold keeps his word. It only takes a few more minutes of persistent stimulation of his hot mouth against your sex before your head starts to spin and you can’t hold back the dam of pleasure and the feeling of being overwhelmed-- 

Nothing else exists but the bolt of release that sings through your entire body. Nothing else matters but his mouth on you--

Your voice breaks as you cry out his name, and Hornigold takes his sweet time before pulling away from your twitching body. He crawls up along the length of your body, then collapses on his side, a hand resting possessively on your hip. He kisses your bare shoulder, leaving a wet, sticky trail on your freckled skin. “Shame on those who loved you before,” he murmurs. “I’d like to whip ‘em proper.”

“Unless you’ve been to a portside city known for its hangover cures, I doubt you know them,” you reply, eyes fluttering.

“I’ve seen Kenway make eyes at you,” Hornigold teases lightly.

“A kiss, here and there. Same with Thatch.”

“Vane?”

The pirate hunter looks… not curious, but rather wistful. He does not mean for these memories to sting and hurt you, but perhaps he misses talking about them. “Charles found his pleasure in drinking and fighting, and it was a welcome change.” You’ll decline to mention those midnight kisses or mornings spent in bed, holding each other in peace and comfort.

“Trapped on an island of pirates,” Hornigold concedes, tracing small circles against your love handles. “Some want t’ rob or fuck you, or do both at the same time.”

“You’re a lucky man.” You slowly start to walk your fingers down his chest, occasionally tangling with his wiry hair. You hesitate as you reach the planes of his stomach, unsure of the dark trail leading into his loose trousers though you can see he’s obviously aroused. Before you go any further, he catches your wrist.

Hornigold kisses your knuckles. Just like when the two of you huddled in the captain’s cabin, when he gave you his rings. Whereas those kisses seemed lustful and intrusive, he is kind and gentle now. You press your lips against his again, and wrap your arms around his neck.

One of his hands cup against your cunt and you instinctively tense at the sensation. Hornigold distracts you with his kisses, and slowly, he tentatively explore your slick folds and clit. Two of his fingers slip inside and you whine in surprise and pleasure. They’re much rougher than his tongue, stiff and crooked, but when he brushes them against your walls, you might just faint then and there.

Hornigold groans into your kiss. “So fuckin’  _ wet-- _ ” His voice breaks, and his restraint finally gives way. Benjamin rolls over to pin you down and his kisses are hard and bruising. He fumbles with his trousers, wraps a shaking hand around his cock, and just  _ barely  _ brushes your entrance. His shoulders are heaving now. Pupils blown, face flushed. He looks so handsome when he’s at wit’s end.

When he slides into you and rocks his hips against yours, Hornigold starts, as usual, at a slower pace. He scans your face for any sign of discomfort-- but you wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him, chasing away any hesitation. 

His rhythm picks up, and the bed protests underneath the motions. You whimper out his name and he lets out a long, uneven groan. His cock is thick and hot, and reaches the most intimate parts of your body. One particular thrust makes you sink your teeth into his collarbone-- and he does it again, and again. When you come, your walls tighten around him and Hornigold  _ whimpers _ , so unlike the brash, heady pirate hunter.

He suddenly curses and pulls out, just in time for his cock to twitch and come across your stomach and breasts. Just as quickly, he ducks his head and licks up the white marks, sending a new wave of shivers down your spine. He’s so intent at making you  _ his _ \-- and he’s so  _ good  _ at it.

“How d’you feel?” he mumbles.

“Tired,” you confess, and stroke along the scar on his face. It mars his complexion, but nothing could ruin the look of absolute bliss. Hornigold tugs you close and lets his arms drape heavy and possessively around you. One of his hands toy with the black ribbon around your neck.

“Sleep,” he says quietly. “Nothin’ to do for the rest of the damned day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ive been having feelings for hornigold╭( ･ㅂ･)و


End file.
